


Numb

by La_Maupin_dAubigny



Series: Promptwatch [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:57:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9242951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Maupin_dAubigny/pseuds/La_Maupin_dAubigny
Summary: Amélie stopped, and her eyes traced over each letter carved on the headstone in front of her.“Hey, Gérard."Written for Promptwatch 1: Traditions





	

It was snowing, a light, lazy drifting that felt like dust on Amélie’s face. She was sure it must have been cold, but all that registered as was a pleasant numbing of her face and hands. She hadn’t felt cold since before… all of this, but she could still sometimes remember it, the sharpness and bite of the winter winds. Her most vivid memory - well, for now, as her mind was erratic and inconsistent when it came to those - was of skating on a frozen lake. The wind was so strong it had nearly blown her over, and she hadn’t known how to move in her skates. Every time she’d fallen, Gérard would help her up. ‘For someone so graceful on the stage, you really are bad at this,’ he’d say, and she’d laugh and -  
She swiftly cut off her train of thought. There would be time for painful memories later. Instead, she focused on her surroundings. The streets were nearly empty, only a few people wandering between the scarce stores that were open. She supposed it was to be expected on Christmas; not many people had the same destination as she did today, with their family and friends to keep them occupied. The shops themselves looked much the same as last year, but a bakery had gone out of business, its sign taken down and its windows displaying only ‘For Sale’ signs.  
Amélie’s pace slowed as she neared the graveyard. She stopped before its gates, hesitating. Going inside would hurt. It hurt every time, but hurt was the only thing that made her feel human anymore.  
Shaking off her hesitation, she entered the graveyard, casting a cautionary glance around the area. It was empty of any people besides herself. Amélie walked slowly through the graves, her feet instinctively following the same path she’d walked for over a decade. She stopped, and her eyes traced over each letter carved on the headstone in front of her. GERARD LACROIX, it read.  
Tears suddenly filled her eyes, and she quickly shifted her gaze to the tree behind his grave. It was still snowing, she noted. Her face still felt numb, but her hands were in her pockets now, and had returned to their normal temperature. The tree had… seven thick branches, she counted. Her pockets were soft, but the inside of her jacket was almost rough in texture. If she breathed deep enough, she could almost feel cold on the inside of her lungs.  
When she felt calm enough, Amélie let herself look again.  
“Hey, Gérard.”  
“This year’s been pretty much the same as before. I guess yours has been too,” she says with a bitter laugh. “My best memory from this year. Huh, well it’s have to be - I know you hate it when I say it’s the killing - and I know I say that every year,” she laughs again and drops her eyes, instead watching her feet trace patterns in the snow. “You know my memory’s not exactly functional, but I remember Mondatta, his death. It was such a clean shot, went right through the girl’s chest and into his head. Well, it would’ve gone through her, if it weren’t for that damned thing on her chest.” She paused. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you hate it when I talk about those things. My favorite thing other than that was this mission me and Sombra were on. We had to wear civilian clothes and we had a lot of free time, and spending time with her is always nice.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I’m sorry that I’m such a mess. Here, I brought something for you,” Amélie continued, fishing through her jacket until she pulled out a rose, laying it on his grave. “It’s not much, but giving you anything more would be pointless, wouldn’t it?”  
“Reaper’s doing well. I know you never met him. But I’m sure I’ve told you a lot about him. Same goes for Sombra. She actually seems a lot better than before. I don’t think I’ve told you about any other agents. I mean, most of the other ones who aren’t in control of me are afraid of me, so I don’t really talk to the others. Williams and Moran are the only ones who I’d consider - well, I wouldn’t use the word friends. I don’t - I can remember feeling, and what I remember isn’t like what happens now.” She swallowed, feeling her tears rising again. “Would you forgive me for dying? For killing?”  
She stopped talking, and the graveyard was silent.  
“Fuck,” she muttered quietly. “Of course you aren’t going to answer me, of course you don’t care what I say here, you’re dead.”  
She turned and began to walk away, but stopped. “Merry Christmas,” she said. “I love you.”


End file.
